Sertian Princess (22 page)

"Sure thing boss.  But I think we're a bit too late.  I'm tapped in to the main comms channel on their defence net, and there's lights going on all over the board."

"Do it anyway.  And have the probes start a run.  If they're looking for intruders, let's give them some."

"Ok boss."

"Julia, how much time have we lost dodging round that bloody freighter?"

"Just over 2 minutes 37 seconds so far, my lord, and still increasing.  It'll be another 30 odd seconds before we start pulling time back."

"Can't we do any better than that?"

"I've got her opened up as far as she'll go, my lord.  She just isn't built for speed."

"Can we still make it on time?"

"No my lord.  We were aiming to hit the field exactly 10 minutes after the Palomar touched down.  Now NavComp's calculated an optimum flight path which has us on full boost past halfway and then using the boosters again to help slow down.  Even then we get there over a minute late and we'll be blazing like a torch in the sky, all the way in."

"And that means the Palomar's bound to be alerted," he continued. "So they'll accelerate the DeCon procedures and whisk the hostages away before we get anywhere near the spacefield."

He sat back in thought, considering this analysis of the situation, his fingers drumming idly on the command panel.  The two women, Julia and Brianey, watched him for what seemed like an age but was probably only about 30 seconds, until he suddenly snapped upright again.

"Right Julia.  Turn this tub around and get us back on board the Salamander as fast as you can."

"What are you going to do, my lord?"

"Patience, patience.  I'll explain in a minute.  For now, just concentrate on making the fastest rendezvous you can with the Salamander."

"Yes my lord."

"Bri, ask Prince Gerald to come forward a minute, please."

As he waited for the prince to appear, David could feel the vibration through the structure of the shuttle, warning that the drive units were pouring out close to the maximum amount of energy that the hull could stand.  The shuttle was turning rapidly again now, as Julia pulled her round towards the Salamander.

"You sent for me, Lord David?"  Prince Gerald arrived on the flight deck and dropped into the third seat.

"Yes.  We have a small difficulty.  All that ducking and weaving has caused us to lose time: time we cannot make up even if we go in all the way on full burn.  So unless we do something dramatic, we're going to hit the spacefield late and, by the time we get there, the entire Parm Defence Network will be on full alert waiting for us and the hostages will be gone."

Contrasting emotions of worry and amusement flickered across the face of the young officer.

"A small difficulty," he repeated.  "If that's a small difficulty, I should hate to see a large one.  So, what is this dramatic action we shall have to take?"

"I'm going to use the Salamander to jump us right on top of the spacefield.  Then we use the shuttle just for the final drop down to the ground."

"But you can't," Julia burst out.  "You can't jump a ship the size of the Salamander in so close to a planetary mass.  You can't calculate the gravitational field that accurately."

"If the shuttle had subspace capability, I would use her instead.  But she doesn't, so it has to be the Salamander.  Now Sam has enough information on Parm I to calculate a point of re-emergence directly above the spacefield.  That's not affected by gravitational anomalies. What we can't do with any certainty, is predict whether we'll be 50 kilometres above the field or 500."

"Or 5 kilometres under," Julia added.  "My lord, it's madness.  It can't be done."

"Yes it can.  There is a risk involved, but it would take a massive field peturbation to drag us that far down.  It can be done, and it's the only chance we have left to make up that lost time."

"I agree with Lord David," Prince Gerald put in.  "I have heard stories of such jumps in my father's palace.  There are a few Space Captains brave enough to attempt such a jump and some skilled enough to succeed.  Maybe Lord David is one of them, I don't know.  But if we can truly do it, it will put us inside their inner cordon.  There'll be nothing between us and the spacefield."

"Well, you shouldn't believe everything you hear," David grinned. "But I happen to know that some of those stories are true.  Salamander can do it but I need to be back on board to use the main Navigation Computers.  I want to calculate those jump coordinates myself."

CHAPTER 22

"What the hell's going on out there?"

Colonel Dak Hendrick, Chancellor of Parm, was experiencing an increasing sense of helplessness, a rising tide of inevitability that had the potential, he sensed, somehow to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory.  Trapped aboard the bridge of the Palomar, able only to monitor the noisy and increasing traffic on the main Defence Channel, he was beginning to feel that events were slipping beyond his control.

All the way back from the raid on the Aldebaran he had kept the ship on full alert, constantly looking for the counter attack, the possible rescue attempt.  But by the time he reached the outer limits of his own Defence Network, he permitted himself to relax sufficiently to receive the expressions of congratulation from his officers.  Mixed with the congratulations there was, he recognised, a considerable feeling of relief.  They had survived the raid but they had paid a terrible price.  Thirty seven of their crew were missing or known to be dead and the Ragnar, pride of the Vostovian fleet had been completely destroyed by that unknown ship.

The unknown ship.  That, he admitted, was the main cause of his unease.  The Imperial Corvette they had expected to be there and, on her own, would have posed no threat.  But that other ship...... Who was she?  And how had she destroyed the Ragnar so easily?

But they had not been followed or attacked in deep space where they were most vulnerable.  The veiled threats he had put out about the safety of the hostages had obviously had the required effect.  Now, as they were entering behind the shelter of the interlocking series of patrols and automatic defence satellites that formed the Parm Space Defences, he ought to be feeling more secure.  Instead there were all these reports.

It had all started with the sighting by that ore carrier out of Parm II: some kind of shuttle craft apparently.  But how did a shuttle get that deep into the defences?  Then the mining ship mysteriously went silent.  One of the patrol craft had found the freighter again on radar, apparently intact, but could not get any sort of signal from her.  Of the shuttle craft, there was no sign.

Then there were a whole series of reported sightings of small craft, maybe probes, maybe one-man fighters, suddenly appearing and then just as quickly vanishing again.  Where did they come from?  Craft that small had a limited range.  Where was the mother ship?

And now, one of the nuclear cells of DefSat 26, one of the inner ring satellites, had suddenly gone critical, blowing a gaping hole in their inner defences.  It could have been an accident: the satellite had not reported itself under attack.  But with all these other reports, Hendrick felt that an accident was stretching coincidence a little too far.

"What the hell's going on out there?" he repeated.

The assembly of ships officers clustered around him remained silent.  Not for the first time he wished he had taken that arms salesman's offer last year to equip the Palomar as a Command Ship.  But the cost had been astronomical and the sales of Biridium had been down that year

"We still have time to abort the landing, Colonel," one of the officers offered hesitantly.

"No, dammit.  No", he snapped.  "I need to see what's going on.  I need to be in the Control Centre.  The landing goes ahead.  And make arrangements to have the prisoners transferred to the Administration Complex as soon as we land."

The two minute warning was sounding as David climbed back in through the shuttles airlock and cycled it shut behind him.  They had not grounded the shuttle on the docking bay floor but were holding it suspended by the tractor beams ready for a quick exit once the jump was complete.  He settled back into the Command seat and started checking the controls.  Once they broke through into normal space, they would register on every screen in the region.  Seconds, fractions of seconds would then be of vital importance, especially as the shock of their appearance would be muted by the fact that every element of the Parm Defence force was currently trying desperately to find them.

Sitting there as an enormous blip on every screen in the System, the Salamander would at last present them with a target, something on which the furiously searching patrol ships could converge.  At the predicted point of re-emergence they would draw fire within seconds from at least two of the Defence Satellites of the Inner Ring.  It would have been three but Corin had successfully taken one of them out.  The number of patrol ships within range was harder to guess.  As far as he could tell by monitoring the signals traffic, the patrol patterns they were using should keep them further out.  They would have to turn and dive down towards the planet, and their glowing target.  Precious minutes for him to drop the shuttle down to the spacefield.

The immediate problem, though was the automatic DefSats.  David was not concerned from the Salamanders' point of view: her screens could handle anything the satellites could throw at her.  But unless he got the shuttle away from the Salamander before the satellites opened up, there was a chance that she might be hit by a power beam, either a loose shot originally or else deflected by the main screens.  The more distance he could put between the shuttle and the Salamander before the lasers started crisscrossing the area, the safer he would feel.

The 10 second warning.  Time for one last prayer that they would not be too far above the planet: far enough but not too far.  He had set the height for 50 kilometres: as fine as he dared and considerable closer than prudence would ordinarily have dictated.  Spatial disorientation.  Then it cleared and the bay doors were already opening, the tractor beams swinging the shuttle towards the increasing gap.

Through the force screen, David fired the main drives and dived down towards the planet’s surface.  It was close.  Perhaps no more than 20-25 kilometres.  They had emerged into the planet’s atmosphere and the shuttle was buffeted by the turbulence of the displaced air.  Still, that had its compensations he reflected, as he battled with the controls.  The volume of air displaced by a ship the size of the Salamander was enormous and the shock waves, both noise and wind, caused by the movement of that air, would further help to disorientate the ground defences.

The spacefield grew rapidly now as the shuttle dropped down towards it.  Through the cabin speakers he heard Sam announcing that the Palomar had landed a mere 5.7 seconds before they broke through.  The timing was spot on so far.  On the rear screen he saw the beams of purple light, lancing down towards the Salamander and dissipating in an iridescent splendour on her defence screens.

He could see the Palomar now in a corner of the spacefield.  Normal DeCon procedures would, he knew, take about 10 minutes.  If they really hurried they could cut that in half or better: say 4 minutes for safety.  He glanced at the chronometer on the control panel.  One minute 15 seconds so far.  He had less than two and three quarter minutes to land the shuttle and disembark the attack squads.

Pulses of violet light flashed past him as the ground defences opened up.  They were still aiming at the Salamander he saw with relief.  They had not spotted the shuttle yet, either directly or on the radar screens, but it could not be much longer.  On the ground now, even without any magnification, he could see the line of vehicles snaking its way out towards the freighter.  That must mean that the shuttle itself would now be visible to the naked eye as a black dot, rapidly growing in size.

Two minutes.  He blessed the incompetence of the ground defence crews who were so preoccupied with the sight of the Salamander hovering like an enormous black disc above them, that they were oblivious to all else around.  Less than 5 kilometres to go now.  He relayed the fact on the intercom to the main cabin.  And then the inevitable happened.

First one of the streams of energy bolts wavered, and then another and another.  Then, as they picked up their new target, swung quickly towards the shuttle.  He waited, tensed, expectant, as the beams swung closer, then flung the shuttle aside as two pulses of energy collided in the space he had just been occupying.  Now the game had changed.  He flew the shuttle now in a zigzag series of evasive manoeuvres as the violet beams tried desperately to catch him.

Slowly he allowed himself to be driven away from the spacefield.  Two kilometres now.  They had left it too late.  Another few seconds and they would not be able to depress the lasers sufficiently to bear on him.  He levelled out the dive now as the beams played harmlessly above him and swung round in a tight circle to make the fast low-level run across the field to drop off the Imperial Guard.

***

From the safety of the Palomar's main airlock, Dak Hendrick watched the scenes of chaos on one of the viewscreens.  Imperial Guard seemed to be everywhere.  Logic said that there could not be that many of them but it was an assertion which was difficult to support from the evidence on the screen.

His own Defence Forces were being cut to pieces and the survivors were falling back on all sides.  Bodies lay in heaps on the ground outside the main barracks where their officers had tried to make a stand.  The Control Tower had been reduced to a smoking ruin and the laser emplacements had been silenced.

Across the field he could see a shuttle of a type he did not recognise, preparing to land.  In its open hatchway he could make out the forms of yet more troops, getting ready to jump as soon as the shuttle touched ground.

"I've got to get down there," he said, punctuating each word by punching his fist into the palm of his other hand.

"It's too dangerous, Colonel.  We daren't open the airlock at present.  You'd be cut down before you reach the car."

"Then what do you suggest," he snarled, rounding on the speaker. "That we sit here like pigeons, waiting to be picked off?  I have to get down there and take charge."

The young officer who had spoken, swallowed nervously and looked round at the other occupants of the airlock.  Nobody else appeared ready to offer any suggestions so he went on hesitantly.

"Well sir, we could..........I mean we could try to divert their attention."

Hendrick swung round to face him.  "Go on."

"Well sir, it's a long run from here down to the cars...."

"I can see that for myself," he snapped sarcastically.

"......but it wouldn't be so far from the emergency airlock."  He finished in a rush.

"It's still too far," Hendrick said.  "Nearer, but still too far."

"Yes sir, but if you go down to the emergency airlock, when you're ready we'll open the doors here, drop the ramp and make as though we're about to come out."

"Meanwhile, I open the emergency door and slip across to the cars.  That's good.  It might just work, particularly if we get one of the cars to edge in closer to the rear steps.  Well done, Lieutenant.....?"

"Browne, sir.  Michael Browne."

"Yes, Lieutenant Browne.  Very well done."  He looked round at the other officers.  "At least somebody here is capable of thinking."

He turned back to face Browne.  "So let's make it happen. Lieutenant, you stay here and take charge of this airlock.  I'll take the prisoners with me and go on down to the emergency airlock.  I'll let you know when I'm in position."

"Yes sir.  Good luck sir."

***

On the flight deck of the shuttle David was battling with the controls, trying to keep the craft level and provide a stable platform for the assault teams firing from the open airlock.  Although the shuttle was designed for planetary operations, it was more manoeuvrable outside of a planet’s atmosphere.  The aftershocks of the Salamander's arrival into the atmosphere above them were still rumbling around, and were added to now by the shock waves from the explosions occurring on all sides of the spacefield.

Julia had gone back to take charge of the assault party at the airlock and spoke now on the cabin speakers.

"Palomar's opening her main airlock.  Looks like they're going to try and make a run for it."

"Ok.  I'm going down.  Get ready to take the team out."

The shuttle rocked as a stray laser blast hit one of the rear fins, swinging the tiny ship around.  David cursed as he felt the immediate loss of response in the controls.  He swung the shuttle back so that the open airlock was again facing the Palomar and the line of waiting cars.  The controls were starting to feel heavy now as he edged down towards the ground.  What was more worrying was the slight rocking motion he could feel.  That last blast must have damaged one of the rear stabilisers.  His hands moved with practised ease to adjust the other stabilisers to compensate and damp out the motion.

Less than 10 metres to go now as he fought to keep the rate of descent under control.  The shuttle was becoming more and more sluggish in responding to his demands.  It must have been more than just a stabiliser that was damaged in that blast.  Five metres.  Two metres and he felt the shuttle lurch as the first of Julia's team baled out. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw them run out and drop into firing positions about 20 metres away, establishing a perimeter and providing cover for the rest of the group.

Touchdown.  He cut the drives and headed for the airlock with Brianey a step behind.  Jumping to the ground he rolled left and lay prone for a few seconds to survey the scene.  Two of the rearmost cars in the line were already on fire and burning fiercely, but the leading cars were obviously protected by some degree of armour plating.  It was around these cars that the main resistance was concentrated.